I Hate Him
by smegmaj
Summary: The thing I hate most about him though, is the way he didn’t hate me. I Hate Him.


I hate him. I hate the way he looked at me, like he knew me so well. Almost as if he knew what I was thinking.

I hate the way he acted. It was as if he owned the school and we should all just bow down to our king of the castle.

I hate the way he made me act towards him. I was always civilized, ask any of my friends. Sirius used to say that you could see what kind of man a person was from the way they treated their enemies, not their equals. What does that say about me?

I suppose it was always retaliation. He always started it. See what he does? He reduces me to a bickering three year old.

Why'd he have to be like that? So cold all the time, he showed no emotion to anyone. Not even his so-called 'friends'.

The thing I hate most about him though, is the way he didn't hate me. Yes, that's right. He didn't 'hate' me; hate's bellow him, really. Any kind of emotion is bellow him.

I suppose he showed typical 'hate' towards me in our younger years. That was all probably just rage from the fact I turned his hand down. That's the only emotion I've ever seen him produce, rage.

Oh, actually I'm forgetting that one time, in sixth year, where he showed his weakness. His family. I saw him crying and it killed him. It killed Malfoy that I saw him at his weakest hour.

That was the last time I saw any emotion from him at all. Well he hadn't been showing emotion for a long time, but he let it slip, just that once. I'll hold that with me to the grave, it's weird but it gives me a little reassurance.

I hate the way he acted in our sixth year. So removed from everything. School, classes and even Quidditch. I became intrigued and Malfoy knew it. But he didn't stop me, nobody could stop me.

I hate the way he didn't kill Dumbledore. He listened to what he had to say and he spilled his guts to him about the pressure of it all, Malfoy didn't show any emotion though. That would've been below him.

I hate how he ran with Snape into the forest. Snape kept screaming for him to run, but Malfoy kept holding back. I wish he could've been there when Snape and I were fighting. Would've I killed him then?

I hate the way we met again. Much later into the war. We were both men at that stage. We'd both seen more than anyone could imagine.

I could tell he knew the end was near. For the war and both of us. I hated the way he knew he was going to die, it was almost as if he was throwing his life away. I hated the way I hate to leave, I didn't find out which side he was fighting for, I guess I already knew.

I hate the way I was there in his last hours. I saw a body lying on the battlefield and me being the savior I am, went over.

I hate the way he looked up at me and said, "Potter?" as if he was shocked that it was me. I wasn't shocked, it was ironic, but I had always foreseen an ending somewhat like this.

We were hidden pretty well, in some bushes and shrubs. I was sure the enemy wouldn't disturb us.

I hated the way he looked. I could tell he'd had enough of this war, as had I. I could tell he wouldn't make it through the night, he knew as well.

So hating myself, I stayed there, for god knows how long. He didn't say anything, nor did I, and it stayed like that until the very end.

I hated the way his breathing started to slow; I'd herd this happen too many times. I knew the outcome wasn't a good one.

I knew I couldn't stay any longer and I hated myself for wanting to leave. As I stated to stand I felt his feeble grasp on my arm.

I hated the way he felt on my skin, too perfect. I sat back down and I heard him say my name. "Harry" I hated the way it sounded coming from him, in his trademark drawl.

I hated the fact that I knew it was near. Death. I hate it. It makes you say and do stupid things. Well that's what I keep telling myself.

Then I looked into those gray eyes, which I hated so much. I hated the way I knew his last words were going to be wasted on me, someone who loathed him. Why couldn't it be someone else? But he had no one else, and I hate him for not allowing anyone to love him.

And then they came, his final words. They haunt me every time I sleep. As I looked at him and he looked at me, I heard him say:

"It was all for you."

I hate him. How could he do that to me? Leave me with those few words, which meant too much.

No one else would have understood what that meant. But the meaning was so plain, so sharp it cut me into a tiny thousand pieces and now I can never be fixed again.

I HATE HIM


End file.
